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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969027">in all these worlds we were meant to be in</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal'>paperpenpal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clothes Sharing, F/M, Fluff, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sylvain is a disaster in the kitchen, date peeping, marked as complete since it's a collection but could add as I take requests, pre-game, request collection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:54:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not the cooking that surprises him.  He heard the low sizzle and smelled the promise of a bacon breakfast from the hallway.  It is not at all uncommon for Ingrid to start rummaging about his place for food.  It’s the fact that she’s wearing his clothes, something that was absolutely not the case when she first came in.</p><p>“Hope you don’t mind.” She says when she glances up at him, only out of politeness before her gaze drops back down to the pan, “I helped myself.”</p><p>//<br/>A Sylvgrid Request and Fluff Collection</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. matchmaker, matchmaker make them a match</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A collection of unrelated Sylvgrid requests of varying (short) lengths, written very quickly.  In-universe and out.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First one from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes%22">nicole_writes</a> who requested:</p><p>  </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain’s incredulous wide-eyed stare is admittedly a little warranted.  The shouting, less so.</p><p>“You set her up with <em>Dimitri</em>?!”</p><p>He’s staring at her from the other side of the kitchen countertop of the apartment she shares with Dorothea, icing a stinging red mark with the bag of peas she found in the back of their otherwise very empty fridge.</p><p>Ingrid’s fingers go to her temples, massaging them as she leans back against the fridge.  Sylvain’s still staring at her like she’s got three heads and she’s too tired and hungry to deal with any of this right now.  “What’s your point Sylvain?”</p><p>“My point,” Sylvain says, shifting the peas to his other hand to press against his head,“is that your roommate is going to <em>eat him alive.</em>”</p><p>Ingrid winces.  He didn’t have to put it quite like that<em>.</em> Dorothea’s lovely and Dimitri’s…nice, they would probably be okay.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>“She is not.”  Ingrid defends weakly.</p><p>Sylvain pulls the frozen peas away from his face and crosses his arms.  He does his best to raise an eyebrow but then immediately grimaces at the way it tugs on the rapidly forming black eye.  </p><p>“Okay, so I acknowledge that she can,” Ingrid sighs, “but that doesn’t mean she’s going to.  And who knows, maybe they’ll hit it off.”</p><p>Sylvain doesn’t look at all convinced.  “Tell me Ingrid, did you set them up because he was the first name on your contact list?”</p><p>“He isn’t the first person on my contact list!”  She huffs, but then very quietly and looking off to the side, she continues, “Annette is.”</p><p>“Annette is also currently seeing someone.”  </p><p>Ingrid grumbles.  “Fine,” she concedes, “I might…not have really thought this one through.”  </p><p>To be honest, she really only wanted some peace and quiet for the night.  She loves Dorothea but the last few weeks at her very low-paying internship have been brutal and juggling that and last year coursework has not been fun.  Sylvain’s lucky he’s done with school.</p><p>“What are they doing anyway?”  He asks.</p><p>“I think they’re just going out for dinner at Dedue’s and maybe grabbing some ice cream afterward if it goes well.”</p><p>He drops the peas onto the counter, striding over to her, and grabbing her arm.  “Come on,” he says, tugging her away from the fridge.  “Grab your coat.”</p><p>“What?”  She asks, but she’s too tired to fight him, “Where are we-?”</p><p>“I’m hungry and I have to make sure our friend is still alive.”</p>
<hr/><p>Sylvain calls into Dedue’s, promising Ingrid that it’s on him.  At first, she had refused but then he managed to convince her with some sweet words about repaying the favor for nursing his black eye and his ego.  It’s ridiculous because she would have done it anyway for free but hey, at least she isn’t stuck eating the ice for dinner.</p><p>Sure enough, Dorothea and Dimitri are chatting away in a booth as she and Sylvain stare at them from the counter.  They seem to be…fine?</p><p>Sylvain narrows his eyes in their direction. Ingrid’s slaps his arm lightly.  “Don’t stare.”</p><p>He doesn’t listen.  “I thought the point was to stare.”</p><p>Her hand wraps around his bicep and she pulls, spinning him hard to face her.  “I thought the point was to get dinner.”</p><p>“No, the point was to make sure that Dimitri’s alive.”</p><p>“Well he is, so can we just-”</p><p>Dorothea catches her eye then and raises an eyebrow.  Dimitri doesn’t because his back is turned to them.  Ingrid hurriedly and quickly shakes her head, trying her best to convey that she is absolutely not trying to interrupt their date and that they can talk about it later.</p><p>It doesn’t work.  Dorothea waves them over and Dimitri turns, smiling when he sees them.</p><p>“Damn it,” Ingrid says, “She’s spotted us.”</p><p>Sylvain shrugs, “It’s not like I was trying to hide behind the plant or anything.”</p><p>Ingrid rolls her eyes and pulls him along, desperately hoping that their order comes up soon.  She’s hungry and tired and grumpy and she doesn’t want to think about how she may have doomed both her friends to a failed connection.</p><p>Sylvain waves and smiles, greeting their friends first.  “Hey guys!  Didn’t think we’d run into you.”</p><p>It’s a blatant lie and three of the four people present are aware of it.</p><p>“Oh, hello Sylvain,”  Dimitri says somewhat stiffly, eyes darting between him and Dorothea, who’s got one arm propped up on the table.  </p><p>Dorothea frowns, staring at Sylvain's face, “What happened to you?”</p><p>Sylvain blinks, hand coming up automatically to rub at it, which is a mistake because he immediately flinches.  “Oh,” he says, “I uh…might have hit on the wrong person.”</p><p>Dimitri sighs, “Sylvain,” he says, exasperated.</p><p>“Oh please, not this again.”  Sylvain groans, “Ingrid already gave me the lecture.”</p><p>Dimitri looks towards Ingrid to confirm, she simply shrugs.  Sylvain is Sylvain, she and Dimitri have lectured him time and time again for years and yet he’s still like this.  </p><p>Before the conversation can carry on, Dedue’s white hair peeks out from behind the kitchen curtain, their food wrapped nicely in takeaway containers.  </p><p>Dorothea would tell her later that the date went fine but that they just didn’t match, which is honestly way more than Ingrid had expected because Sylvain’s right, Dorothea could eat Dimitri alive if she wanted to.</p>
<hr/><p>“<em>Hilda?!</em>”  Ingrid practically shrieks, nearly knocking her coffee cup right onto the three-year-old laptop she can in no way replace at the moment.  “You set him up with<em> Hilda?</em>”</p><p>Several people from around the cafe turn and glare at her.  Sylvain actually reels back from her sheer volume and Ingrid has to duck, mouthing sheepish apologies to very overworked students with their headphones on.  </p><p>“I didn’t set them up,” Sylvain says, looking incredibly out of place in his full-on business suit, waving his own cup around, spilling coffee onto the table.  Ingrid pulls her laptop back, closing the lid and shoving it into her bag.  She is not going to get any work done at this rate and Sylvain is careless at best. “I just…put them both in the same place.  How is this any different than the Dimitri and Dorothea thing?”</p><p>“Because Felix-” Ingrid says, massaging the bridge of her nose, “-cannot stand her.”</p><p>“Felix can’t stand a lot of people.”  Sylvain dismisses as Ingrid starts shoving the rest of the papers and her textbook into her bag,  “He can barely stand me.”</p><p>She snorts, “You said it.”</p><p>It’s not true, they both know it, but it is funny to joke about.  Hilda and Felix though…</p><p>“Come on,” she says, grabbing her coffee, “let’s go rescue him.”</p>
<hr/><p>Turns out, neither Felix nor Hilda need rescuing.  They certainly don't seem to be flirting but they are talking about something, which is honestly more than what Ingrid had expected.  She also hadn’t expected them to be walking around the quad on campus in the middle of the afternoon towards the library.</p><p>“Told you I didn’t set them up.”  Sylvain grins, nudging.  As punishment, she’s made him hold her twenty-two-pound zoology textbook.  Annoyingly, he doesn’t seem to mind at all.  “They’re just talking.”</p><p>“What…” Ingrid’s brow furrows, “…what do you think they’re talking about?”</p><p>She cannot think of a single thing either of them have in common.  Honestly, Ingrid’s not even sure they’ve even met before this.  </p><p>Sylvain shrugs, “Do you want to go and find out?”</p><p>“Absolutely not.”  She glares before sighing.  “I really should study.”</p><p>“Come on,” Sylvain says, “Let’s go back to the shop.  I’ll buy you a coffee.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Ignatz and…Bernadetta?”  Ingrid says, mouth full of pizza.  She’s on Sylvain’s couch.  The bastard has his own very nice apartment to himself and absolutely no student loans.  Must be nice.  </p><p>Sylvain shrugs, meticulously rolling up his long white shirt sleeve before he takes his own slice of very greasy and very pizza, “I think it could work.  They both like art right?”</p><p>Ingrid blinks as Sylvain settles into the couch, kicking his feet up on her lap with his back against the armrest, stinky socks way too close to her perfectly good pizza slice. “But Bernadetta’s so-” panicked, scared, avoidant, “-shy.”</p><p>“Yeah but Ignatz’ pretty chill you know?”  He explains.  She watches the pizza sauce drip onto his work shirt.  That’s definitely going to stain.  “Maybe he can help her a bit?”</p><p>Ingrid shakes her head, pushing his feet off of her before turning on the couch to lay down too.  Now it’s her feet that’s too close to his food.  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”  </p><p>“Why not?” He mumbles, mouth full.</p><p>“Because you can’t set up people who don’t want to be set up.”  She sighs, wiggling her toes against his arm. “And Bernadetta’s never, not one time, ever expressed an interest in dating to me.”</p><p>“Since when are you and Bernadetta close?”</p><p>“Since when are you?”</p><p>Sylvain shrugs.  “I read her fanfiction sometimes.”</p><p>Ingrid’s mind screeches to a halt.  “You read her what-?”</p><p>“Oh crap, I don’t think I’m supposed to say that.”</p>
<hr/><p>Sylvain balks, “No!”  He says.  He’s resting between sets, shirtless in the gym, because of course he is, interrupting her treadmill time.  Normally, when she’s working out, she tries to avoid any form of conversation but Sylvain’s jumped up onto the side of the machine and the only reason Leonie hasn’t yelled at him for it is because she’s helping Ralphael with something and hasn’t noticed.  If Ingrid hadn’t taken her earbud out to wrap around her neck, he would have done it for her just for the attention.  </p><p>“What?”  She snaps.  She’s still got another ten minutes on this thing and she’s already exhausted but it’s mostly from this conversation.</p><p>“You can’t do that to dear sweet old Marianne!”  He says, holding onto the treadmill rail for balance while his other hand goes up to hold onto his heart.  Sylvain’s hand touches the treadmill’s built-in heartrate sensor, sending all of the numbers haywire, which is annoying.</p><p>“Sylvain,” She huffs, “She and Lorenz are friends.”</p><p>“But he’s horrible.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes and sticks the earbud back into her ear right as Leonie begins shouting from across the room.</p>
<hr/><p>“Okay, I’ve got one for you,” Sylvain says as he walks her back to her apartment.  They’ve just finished dinner, coincidentally at the same establishment that Dedue and Mercedes were at, seated on the other side of the room.  She’s reasonably sure that the pair hadn’t noticed but that’s because they were too engrossed in the conversation with each other.  It was honestly adorable.  </p><p>Ingrid groans as she fishes for her keys.  “Please don’t say Hubert and Raphael.”</p><p>Sylvain had seen them sit in roughly the same proximity exactly one time at one of Claude’s parties and now he’s convinced they are the next “it” couple.</p><p>He laughs as Ingrid pulls the door open.  She props her hip against the gate of her apartment complex and he steps in close, bracing his hand against the door above her head as she crosses her arms.  “No,” he says with a playful grin, “That’s not who I was thinking of.”</p><p>“Sylvain,” she sighs, “Don’t you think we should stop?”</p><p>She’s not even sure how this happened.  Pairing their friends and acquaintances up was definitely not something she ever thought she would take part in.</p><p>“Last one,” he promises.</p><p>He’s smiling down at her, very close, and Ingrid has to tilt her head to see.  He’s got a glimmer in his eyes that she’s been seeing more and more of lately.  One that says that he’s happy.  She likes this look on him best.  Sylvain deserves a little lightness in his life.  It’s that smile, and only that, that makes her concede.  “Fine,” she says, with a little smile of her own, “last one.”</p><p>He takes in a breath and steps in a little closer, “How about you and me?”</p><p>Ingrid’s head reels back and meets the door.  “Ow,” she winces, before staring wide-eyed back at him.  “What?”</p><p>“You and me.”  He says again, smile still there, but there’s something of an edge to his voice.  It sounds almost nervous.  </p><p>Ingrid blinks, “what? I mean-”</p><p>Sylvain frowns, the hand on the door slips a bit but Ingrid’s still got the door propped with her hip so it doesn’t go anywhere. “Is that a no?” He says, voice trying for light but sounding and looking a little defeated.</p><p>“No!”  She says quickly, but then immediately shakes her head, “No, I mean, it’s not a no as in no, I - oh what am I saying?”</p><p>Sylvain tilts his head, looking adorably confused, his frown is gone, replaced by an amused smile, although he still seems nervous.  “No idea Ingrid.”</p><p>Ingrid takes in a breath, then looks up at him, her voice is firm when she speaks.  “Are you being serious?”</p><p>“Deadly.”  He whispers.</p><p>“It’s not a line.”  She says.  “You’re not just hitting on me for fun?  Flirting?”</p><p>“I am absolutely hitting on you, Ingrid.”  He says, “But no, not just for fun.  I’m serious.  You and me, how about it?”</p><p>Ingrid looks up at him, stares into his eyes, and looks for sincerity.</p><p>She finds it.</p><p>“Okay,” she says, a slow sprawling smile blossoming on her face.  To be honest, she had never considered it before but when she thinks of Sylvain and the smile that he’s giving her now, one where his eyes glimmer and crinkle, she thinks, maybe she doesn’t want that to be anyone else’s.  "You and me."</p><p>It can't hurt to try.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. it might all be in my head but that doesn't mean i'm not going to win</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Request from/Short birthday fic for <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightsdawn/works">Nightsdawn</a><br/>(Happy Birthday!!)</p><p>  </p><p>Also thanks <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes%22">nicole_writes</a> for answering food-related questions LOL</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three onions and a tomato roll off the countertop and slam straight onto the floor right as the black smoke from the stove begins to rise.  Sylvain has to make a decision then:</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Option A: stop the onions</p>
  <p>Option B: put out the fire.</p>
</blockquote><p>For some reason, he chooses option A, which is absolutely the wrong decision, given how quickly the thick black smoke plumes into the rest of the kitchen.</p><p>There is no saving the splattered tomato, especially once he steps on it.</p><p>Sylvain curses when he rises from the floor, he has the three onions cradled in the crook of one arm and he's coughing while he desperately fans the smoke with his other hand, which only seems to make this worse.</p><p>He’s so frantic and panicked that he doesn’t hear the person behind him come in, coughing too until they speak.  “What’s going on here?”</p><p>The voice startles him and the onions go straight onto the floor again.  One of them rolling towards the door.</p><p>When he quickly looks, he registers a concerned-looking Mercedes but he’s still too busy trying to deal with this disaster to properly greet her.  Instead, he shouts.</p><p>“Mercedes!  Thank the Goddess you’re here.  I seemed to have set the bread on fire!”</p><p>Mercedes furrows her brow, quickly running over to help.  The first thing she does is turn the stove off, which, honestly, makes a ton of sense in retrospect.</p><p>“Sylvain,” she laughs lightly when the situation is significantly less dire.  The skillet is no longer usable. He’ll have to buy a new one to replace it unless he wants the entirety of the Monastery’s kitchen staff to come after him again.  There’s still a lot of smoke in the room but now the windows are opened and the choking less severe.  “What were you trying to make?”</p><p>He sighs, rubbing his forehead with his hand, “I’m not even sure.  I don’t know how this happened.”</p><p>He’s never been a particularly good chef but he can follow a recipe.  Maybe that’s where he went wrong.  There was no recipe this time.  </p><p>He was trying to be creative but his hubris, as usual, was his biggest downfall.</p><p>Or maybe he had just been distracted.  </p><p>Mercedes is too polite to laugh loudly at him but there is an amused smile on her face and kind eyes that stare back at him.  “Bread tends to go in the oven.”  She says gently, “Unless you’re toasting it and even then...”</p><p>Right, well, he actually did know that but for some reason, he hadn’t been thinking and when he turned around the loaf was on fire.  </p><p>Sylvian groans, “yeah well,” he shrugs, unsure where to go with this.</p><p>Mercedes doesn’t say anything more.  Instead, she continues to look at him and she’s just so patient and nice that it all spills out.</p><p>“I thought I could try making something for Ingrid.”  He mumbles, cheeks flaming, and he doesn’t know why.  He’s usually not this shy about anything.</p><p>Mercedes smiles.  “I think that’s sweet.”  </p><p>Sylvain huffs.  Mercedes doesn’t press or ask any more questions out loud but he answers them anyway.  “I just - she and Yuri have this weird like…food thing-?" He pauses with a grimace, "that they’re doing now and - I don’t know, I thought - never mind.”</p><p>Sylvain had noticed it a week ago.  The two would occasionally share meals and even cook for each other and it was…well honestly it was weird because who was this guy?  At first, Sylvain had brushed it off but then he caught Yuri flirting with her, and instead of hitting him, all he got was a light scolding!  A light scolding!  Imagine!  Flirting with Ingrid and not immediately being chased off.  It must have been the food.  Ingrid’s pretty stubborn but she’s also very food motivated…he’s not sure why he never thought to try this before.</p><p>Mercedes’ smile turns knowing and Sylvain already doesn’t like where this is going.  “What.”  He asks flatly.</p><p>“Nothing,” she practically sings, “Do you want me to help?”</p><p>He thanks her profusely afterward and she has to stop him from dramatically falling onto his knees at her heels.</p>
<hr/><p>Sylvain is outside of Ingrid’s door holding a plate in one hand of a pretty looking Derdriu-Style Fried Pheasant sandwich and his other hand raised ready to knock.  It’s a bit simple but Mercedes had insisted that he do most of the work because it would mean more so they didn’t end up doing anything too fancy.</p><p>So, in lieu of complexity in the meal itself, Sylvain had pushed the bread around and messed around with different plates for a few minutes trying to make it look just right before Mercedes had scolded him about the food getting cold.</p><p>Now he’s wondering if maybe it’s too simple.  He’s seen Yuri cook and it’s a lot more impressive than this.</p><p>He’s about to abandon it and just go sulking into his room to eat it himself when the door opens.</p><p>Ingrid stops abruptly, recoiling a bit from the force of which she stopped and takes a step back, blinking at Sylvain’s raised hand and plate.  “Sylvain?”</p><p>For some reason, his mouth goes dry.  “Erm, hey Ingrid.”  </p><p>“Sylvain,” she says, looking down at the tray.  “What’s this?”</p><p>He’s about to respond when her stomach grumbles, making him laugh.  Ingrid blushes.</p><p>“Thought you could use a study snack.”  He says instead, “I know you’re worried about that certification.”</p><p>Ingrid grins, her eyes not at all straying from the food.  That in itself makes him feel more confident.  Take that Yuri!  </p><p>“I can eat this?”  She practically drools.  "I thought I smelled something in the hall so I came out to check."</p><p>“Well, I made it for you so yeah,”  He grins, handing over the sandwich, “you can eat it.”  </p><p>Ingrid doesn’t try to be any more polite than that.  She takes the food from him eagerly and steps back into her room.  She hasn’t even sat down at her desk yet when she takes her first bite and Sylvain waits, holding his breath, for her reaction.</p><p>”It’s so good!”  Her words are muffled by the food in her mouth.</p><p>Pride swells in his gut.  Hell yeah!</p><p>“Well, you know me,” he says stepping into the room.  He leans against her desk next to her as she eats, trying for very casual.  She’s already halfway through and it hadn’t been a particularly small sandwich.  Ingrid’s really amazing sometimes… “I always know what I’m doing.”</p><p>She throws him a skeptical look and swallows before replying.  “I didn’t know you could cook.”</p><p>A flash of dark black smoke crosses his mind but he shrugs, “I’m learning.”</p><p>“From who?”  She asks.</p><p>At that moment, someone knocks on her doorframe, and they both glance towards it.  Sylvain frowns at the sight of Yuri at the open door he should have closed but then immediately tries to force his face into a smile.  It doesn’t matter though, Yuri’s caught him but doesn’t say anything about it.  He’s just glad Ingrid hasn’t noticed.</p><p>“Hello Ingrid,”  Yuri greets with that smile of his.  It’s smug if you ask Sylvain but no one else seems to agree.  “I just came by to see if you wanted to share a meal with me but it seems I’ve been beaten.”</p><p><em>Damn right you have.  </em> </p><p>Ingrid looks apologetic, “I’m sorry.  I’m already eating but perhaps another time?”</p><p>Sylvain’s grin turns real.  Ingrid could probably easily eat more but she’s declined Yuri’s invitation anyway.  Ha!  Take that again Yuri!  Although she did say something about another time but Sylvain can deal with that later.</p><p>Yuri nods, bidding a polite goodbye to the both of them.  After he leaves, Sylvain bounds over to the door, closing it with a satisfying click.  By the time he turns around, Ingrid’s already done with her sandwich.</p><p>“Did you like it?”  He asks, returning to his spot next to her.</p><p>Ingrid grins, placing the plate on her desk.  “It’s very good.  The flavors were incredible and the breading was fried perfectly.”  </p><p>“Best thing you’ve ever eaten right?”  He grins, nudging her.  Ingrid has a crumb against her cheek and it’s too cute for him to want to point out.</p><p>“It was pretty good,”  she says with a smile.</p><p>“Better than Yuri’s?”</p><p>Ingrid blinks, looking confused, “Uh, I wouldn’t know.”  She says, “He’s never made this before.”</p><p>“Ha!”  He grins, pumping a fist into the air, “I win by default!”</p><p>Ingrid’s confused gaze doesn’t waver.  “Win what?” she asks, looking a little suspicious.</p><p>“Uh, nothing.”  He says, “nothing at all.  It’s not like I’m competing against him or anything.  Not at all.”</p><p>“Right…” Ingrid says with an amused smile.  He doesn’t like that smile.  Normally he does, but he gets the feeling that she’s clued onto something he didn’t want her to.  “Well, next time, I’ll make something for you.  How does that sound?”</p><p>“How about,” Sylvain starts, “we just make something together?”</p><p>Ingrid considers this for a second, “That sounds nice actually,” she tells him, “although I warn you that I’m not the most skilled person in the kitchen.”</p><p>The tragic squashed tomato he forgot to clean up pops into his mind’s eye again but he shakes it off.  “Honestly,” he shrugs, “neither am I but maybe we both can start learning together?  Might be a while before we master it though if you can put up with me.”</p><p>Ingrid rolls her eyes, “I’ve put up with you so far Sylvain.  A few hours in the kitchen isn’t going to kill me.”</p><p>Sylvain grins and resists the urge to fist pump again.  He managed to get Ingrid to enjoy his food, smile, and agree to a whole series of potentially long cooking dates.  Yeah, he definitely won this round.</p><p>“It’s a date then!”  He grins.</p><p>Ingrid hums something, “Yeah, yeah, sure.” She says, dismissing him.</p><p>Well…good enough he supposes.  It’s still a win.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I can't write Yuri so I just...didn't haha.  It's kind of hard to write a jealous fic without having the object of said jealousy there but I wanted to go for fun and light and to do something different than the other versions of the jealous Sylvains I've done.</p><p>Also, that bread thing actually happened to me.  I set it on fire.  Not burnt it - set the damn thing on fire with a flame and everything.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. of Kingdoms and Knights (and one single steed )</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For <a href="https://twitter.com/anditiucs">@anditiucs</a>, a fantastic artist you should check out, who requested:</p><p> </p><p> <br/>Also, kids are really hard so I didn't touch too much on the crush.  Hope that's okay.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s an argument on the palace courtyard.  Sylvain can hear it from around the corridor.  He had been dragged away with Glenn for an extra lesson that the others were spared from only because of their slightly younger age.  Glenn had not returned with him, instead, he had opted to stay behind and chat with Gustave about something or other - teacher’s pet.</p><p>The lessons were annoying.  It used to be that coming to the palace was an escape from them.  It was time to meet up with his friends, time away from the unforgiving cold that was Gautier but now the tutors come with him or they’re already there.</p><p>It was time to stop kidding around says his father.  </p><p>All that means to Sylvain is that he should kid around more.  Besides, he’s keeping the young prince company.  It’s diplomacy.</p><p>He can hear the way Felix huffs and is not surprised to see the three of them, standing around in a triangle.  Felix has his arms crossed, glaring at Ingrid, who mirrors him.  Dimitri just seems caught in the middle, trying to mediate between his two friends.</p><p>“Dimitri’s obviously the king.”  Felix argues, not budging, “which means I’m the knight.”</p><p>“Then what am I?”  Ingrid fumes, “I want to be the knight.”</p><p>Felix shakes his head but before he can say something that’ll upset Ingrid, Dimitri speaks up.  “How about we all be knights?”</p><p>Both Ingrid and Felix turn their sharpened gazes towards the young prince.  “You can’t be the knight.”  They say at the same time as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p>Sylvain steps up, steps in, like the one true knight he is, saving Dimitri from whatever the fall out of this argument between Ingrid and Felix is going to be.  “Hey hey,” he says, hands out and gesturing them to calm down, “what are we playing?”</p><p>He’s a little too old to be overly interested in these games anymore, to be honest.  He’s only two years older than the trio but the older they all get, the larger that gap seems to be.  Running around in the mud just isn’t as fun to him anymore.  At twelve years old, his interests have long since wandered away from the make-believe tales of knighthood and chivalry that the other three still seem enamored with.</p><p>Because, as Sylvain is starting to find out and Glenn refuses to acknowledge, knighthood isn’t always what they say it is.</p><p>They’ll grow out of it too, eventually, Sylvain thinks, but he’s not going to be the one that forces them to.  It’s cute that they still run around like this.  He hopes that they never change but knows that they all will.</p><p>Ingrid turns to him, “we’re trying to assign roles for K&amp;K but we can’t decide who should be who.”</p><p>Sylvain’s brow furrows, “Why can’t we have two knights again?”  he asks.</p><p>“Because we need someone to be the other kingdom.”  Felix says, “And it’s Ingrid’s turn.”</p><p>Usually, “the other kingdom” is the Empire or, on a few occasions, the Alliance.  The role of Kingdom usually means standing around and shouting.  It’s something that no one particularly enjoys except for Sylvain himself, once upon a time, because he used to be able to direct the others to do the silliest things.  </p><p>“I could be the Kingdom.”  He shrugs, an offering.</p><p>Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow, “No,” she says simply, which surprises him.  “You always make us do something stupid.”</p><p>She’s not wrong.  It’s mostly because he doesn’t like running and watching Felix and Ingrid wrestle is quite funny.</p><p>“How about we just have one Kingdom.”  Sylvain tries again.  “His Highness can send us out on missions.”  </p><p>Ingrid seems to consider this, mulling over his suggestion but Felix, as usual, stays his stubborn self.  “That’s too many knights.” He says.</p><p>Sylvain resists the urge to argue with him.  That the number of knights needed for a make-believe game is completely arbitrary but he’s the older one.  He’s almost thirteen.  He will not argue with Felix over this.  </p><p>“Then I can be something else.”  Sylvain shrugs, not minding.</p><p>Ingrid’s grin is wicked.  “How about you be a steed?”</p><p>Felix’s stubborn glare relaxes at the thought and a slow smirk begins to spread across his face. “There’s an idea.”</p><p>Sylvain is about to refuse, he glances over at Dimitri for some backup but the young prince simply stands, watching, a small always worried smile on his face.  Then Sylvain looks at Ingrid, who is smiling boldly at him, her teeth flashing.</p><p>“For who?”  Sylvain halfway sighs.</p><p>Felix shakes his head, “I hate horses.”  </p><p>Ingrid doesn’t even answer, instead, she runs behind him and jumps, slamming onto Sylvain’s back.  He barely manages to catch his footing.  “Ingrid!”  He says, “You can’t just jump-”</p><p>“Horses don’t speak.”  She says simply, thwacking him on the head lightly.</p><p>Sylvain rolls his eyes and adjusts so that he has a better grip on her and she’s piggybacked on him comfortably in a way that ensures that neither of them fall over.</p><p>He is suddenly very glad that she managed to convince her mother and father to wear pants that day.  It would be a little awkward otherwise.  A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but he’s older now and it’s…it’d be weird.</p><p>But Sylvain doesn’t give that too much thought.  Instead, he is resigned to his role for the day as a horse.  </p><p>Strangely, he finds himself enjoying the experience just as he used to.  Ingrid on his back as they chase Felix around while Dimitri tells them to be careful in the courtyard.  If true knighthood was actually like this, Sylvain probably wouldn’t mind his lessons as much.  The idea of spending every day like this, being with his friends, well, it’s a little bit like a dream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. all of our weaknesses right in front of us (and i never even noticed)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The restoration of the Monastery was a slow-going process.  Alongside the destruction of the initial imperial siege, there was also damage and debris left from the last five years of abandonment, the result of many bandit raids and lots of looting.</p><p>But still, the grounds stand.  It just needed a little touch of work.</p><p>Perhaps more than a touch.</p><p>It’d been two months since they’ve all reunited and too much to do.  The War Council meetings were sandwiched between training and restoration.  It was exhausting but it was better than the alternative which was to fight a war they were slowly losing.</p><p>At the moment, Ingrid found herself in the stacks of what was once a grand library.  It had mostly been left alone and was long overdue for cleanup.  There wasn’t a lot of time to read anything other than war books on tactics.  That section had been cleaned up quickly, its books lugged out and trudged into the Council Room down the hall.  </p><p>Most of the book stacks would need to be rebuilt and replaced.  There were a few standing ones with minor damage but the large majority had been chopped up, the books littered on the floor, collecting dust.</p><p>Ingrid had always been a bit of a bookworm.  To see some of these very old texts strewn out upon the floor almost hurt a little.  </p><p>Her first task was to recover and categorize the books between those that can still be of use, those that only needed a little restoration, and those that were beyond hope.  Thankfully, that last category had been relatively small.</p><p>Ingrid was deep in her task when she heard a very loud shout.  Immediately she jumped up.  The last five years of war had kept her instincts sharp.  She was deep in the Monastery, there were knights and soldiers everywhere, but she was not one to discount the possibility of danger, not when there could be a number of spies or assassins skulking about.</p><p>Her lance was elsewhere.  There was no extra need to lug it around to every alcove of the Monastery but she sorely wished she had it now.  Still, she kept a dagger on her at all times, exactly in case of situations like this.  </p><p>She was thankful that she had made it a habit to keep her armor on.  It could get in the way during heavy work like this but she had no other choice.  </p><p>Another distressed sounding shout came from nearby.  It was definitely coming from within the library.  Ingrid quickened her pace as fast as she could without making too much noise, her dagger in hand.  She hadn’t recognized the voice.  It had been too high pitched and as far as she knew, only Sylvain had been in the library with her.  For one second, she was thankful that it didn’t sound like it came from him.  Still, a gnawing sense of worry ate away at her skin.  </p><p>He would be okay.  Sylvain was strong and capable.  She only needed to get to him.</p><p>“Get away from me!”  </p><p>It was Sylvain.  He was shouting, almost screeching, forcing Ingrid to abandon stealth in place of speed.  It wouldn’t matter how quiet she was if Sylvain was laying on the ground bleeding to death.  She would never forgive herself if she couldn’t get there fast enough.  If he was -</p><p>She rounded the book stack, her stance ready and came face to face with -</p><p>“A…spider?"</p><p>Sylvain had jumped up on two misleveled book stacks.  One foot on each stack.  One had more books than the other which seemed to be challenging his balance.  His eyes were darting rapidly around, scouting for the spider that Ingrid had only just caught speeding under a floorboard.</p><p>The adrenaline died in her in one big crash, replaced by a profound annoyance.  “Sylvain,” she groaned, scolding as she sheathed her dagger back into place.  “You scared the living daylights out of me!”</p><p>“For good reason!”  he snapped, still on the book stacks.  She watched one of his feet slipped a little, sliding one of the tomes on the stack just a hair out of place.  Any further and the whole thing would come tumbling down and he’d have to start over.  </p><p>Her even breathing never left from her but the restraint in which she focused on it does as she huffed, “It was a <em>spider</em>.”</p><p>“It was a big spider!”  he defended, hands whirling around wildly as if it would prove his point.</p><p>It did not prove his point.  Instead, it was the final movement that threw the whole stack off, forcing Sylvain’s foot off balance, and, predictably, he slammed straight onto the ground, books spraying out every which way.</p><p>Ingrid glanced down as one of the covers landed on the tip of her boots and raised an eyebrow towards Sylvain, a hand on her hip he groaned.</p><p>Sylvain, the mighty Gautier heir, wielder of the great Lance of Ruin, now laid sprawled out on the library floor, looking absolutely ridiculous.  Bested by a spider.</p><p>And somehow, this simple act of clumsiness was enough for most of the annoyance to give way to genuine endearment.  Not that she’d let him know that.  She was still annoyed enough that he had worried her so much that she wasn’t about to let this one go that easily.  Not with everything she always had to put up with from him.</p><p>“It wasn’t that big,”  she said to him.  And it wasn’t.  It had been barely the size of her thumb.</p><p>“Ingrid,” he groaned, this time not from pain.  She could always tell when he was being overly dramatic on purpose, “spare a guy a little bit of his dignity won’t you?”</p><p>She stepped up to him so that she could look down straight at his face from above.  His eyes were still closed.  His positioning on the floor seemed incredibly uncomfortable and she was sure that, were it not for the heavy armor he wore, several books would have dug into his back.  “You don’t have any to begin with.”  </p><p>His face screwed up, nose wrinkling almost adorably at the jab, before blinking open.  “Ouch,” he said, hand to his heart.  “You really know how to kick a guy when he’s down.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes and offered a hand, Sylvain took it graciously, rising to stand, wincing as he did so.</p><p>“You okay?”  she asked, stepping back to look him over.  He seemed to be okay.  It was likely the only thing he had bruised was his ego.  </p><p>“Hmm,” his lips quirked and Ingrid braced herself for whatever stupid thing he’s about to say next.  “I don’t think so - kiss it better?”</p><p>She slapped him against his armor, hard.  The clang echoed into the rest of the library and before Ingrid could retort, the spider reared out from under the floorboard and Sylvain yelped once again, jumping back and nearly losing his footing.</p><p>She caught him by the arm before he tumbled, righting him back up before she bent down towards the scurrying little critter.  </p><p>Sylvain took several steps back as Ingrid reached for a nearby book and gently encouraged the spider onto it.  Then she moved to the open window and let the little one out.</p><p>“There,”  she said, turning back to him when she finished, a teasing smile fixed on her face.  “The big bad spider’s gone now.”</p><p>“My hero,”  he said dramatically, approaching her before suddenly exaggerating a swoon. “My knight in shining armor, what ever would I do without you?”</p><p>No eye-roll in the world could possibly convey the amount of exasperation he brought her.  “Fall over apparently.”</p><p>“Good thing I have you then.”  He grinned, thankfully righting himself to stand normally.  </p><p>“Always,” she sighed. “Unfortunately.”</p><p>He looked like he wanted to say something more but Ingrid cut him off before he got a chance to. “Spiders though?  Really?”</p><p>“They can be dangerous!”</p><p>“Sylvain, you regularly ride into battle.”  She frowned. “What would your battalion think if their fearless leader could be so easily bested by something so small and so harmless.”</p><p>“It’s the small ones that get you.  After all, you’re-”</p><p>“Don’t finish that sentence,”  she warned, but there’s none of her usual bite in it.  Instead, it’s playful.  If he was going to tease her, she could tease him right back.  “Should I be scouting for spiders before you ride in?  Should I bring that up at War Council?”</p><p>Sylvain gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”  </p><p>“It’s a pretty serious problem,”  she said with a smile. “We absolutely can’t let the Empire catch wind of this.  This could be a weakness they exploit and -”</p><p>“Ingrid,” he laughed. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”</p><p>“I have done no such thing!  I’m just trying to address the issue at hand here.”</p><p>“And what’s that?”</p><p>“That you could put yourself in jeopardy and we can’t risk that.”</p><p>“Didn’t realize you cared so much.”</p><p>Ingrid dismissed this comment with a wave.  “Of course you did.”</p><p>The grin on his face widened, “Does that mean I’m your weakness?”</p><p>“You should quit while you’re ahead.”  She sighed, exasperated. “Come on, we have to get back to work.”</p><p>Sylvain’s pout was almost adorable.  Almost. “Aw, Ing, I’m wounded and injured.  I think that entitles me to a little bit of a break.”</p><p>“Get back to work Sylvain or I’m bringing the spider back.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Request by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/livmoores/pseuds/livmoores">livemoores</a> who requested:</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <br/></p>
</div>This ficlet could also be titled: Sylvain tries desperately to flirt with Ingrid and she misses literally every cue.
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. your love language is my love language (but only sometimes)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Technically, this one came from me but I had no actual intention of writing it until everyone shouted at me to do it so now this is for them?  And by them I mean the entire Sylvgrid discord server.</p><p>The request referred to as "Catgrid" is: "Ingrid is uncharacteristically clingy/affectionate one day"</p><p>It's just tooth-rotting fluff and nothing else in here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something strange is going on.</p><p>At first, Sylvain hadn’t really taken much note of it.  Ingrid just dropped by, way too early in the morning, and knocked on his door, two cups of coffee in her hands while he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes.</p><p>It wasn’t exactly common for her to drop by without so much as a text and they hadn’t agreed to anything beforehand but it wasn’t utterly out of character.</p><p>It just seemed like a nice thing for her to do.  </p><p>Well, after he got through the initial confused panic.</p><p>“Am I late for something?”  He had asked.  </p><p>Had Ingrid not had her hands full, she probably would have placed her hands on her hips but instead, she simply raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t know,” she had said, “are you?”</p><p>After concluding that no, he was not late for anything and that yes, Ingrid had, out of the kindness of her own heart, gotten him a morning coffee despite waking him up earlier than he had intended (it was a weekend, shouldn’t he be allowed to sleep in?), he let her in and didn’t think anything of it.</p><p>But now, after having been all but shoved into his shower, Sylvain finds himself staring at a comfortable looking set of his own clothes on his freshly made bed.  </p><p>Or rather, a pair of boxers and some sweatpants.  She must have forgotten to lay out a shirt.</p><p>But still, Ingrid had come in and set things out for him.  Ingrid had made his bed.  This is weird not only because Sylvain is absolutely capable of doing all those things himself, despite what Felix might believe, but also because he has a distinct memory of Ingrid’s stern refusal to<em> “</em>clean up after” him anymore.</p><p>Sylvain decides not to question it too much.</p><p>He dresses in the clothes Ingrid set out for him, although he does throw on a white T-shirt before exiting to the kitchen.  The shower did wonders to wake him up but the promise of coffee entices him enough that his steps are quicker than usual for this time on a lazy weekend morning.  </p><p>The single sip he was allowed early before being shoved into the bathroom told him that Ingrid went to his favorite place and got his favorite drink.  </p><p>Sylvain stops dead at the sight in the kitchen.</p><p>It’s not the cooking that surprises him.  He heard the low sizzle and smelled the promise of a bacon breakfast from the hallway.  It is not at all uncommon for Ingrid to start rummaging about his place for food.  It’s the fact that she’s wearing his clothes, something that was absolutely not the case when she first came in.</p><p>“Hope you don’t mind.” She says when she glances up at him, only out of politeness before her gaze drops back down to the pan, “I helped myself.”</p><p>Sylvain isn’t sure what she means by “help myself.”  He’s not sure if she’s referring to the breakfast for two she’s cooking or the fact that she had changed out of her clothes and into his.  </p><p>He decides she means both.</p><p>“Uh, no,” he replies.  </p><p>Ingrid nods and goes back to what she’s doing as if she hadn’t rolled up the bottom of his blue sweats four times and as if the too-large sleeves of a very old grey high school hoodie don’t keep slipping down her elbows.</p><p>“I reheated your coffee,” she says, scrambling the eggs the way he likes it, “did it on the stove.  Hope it’s still fine.”</p><p>He glances at the countertop and finds his favorite mug steaming.  The “SEXY AF” print stares back at him.  It only surprises him because Ingrid absolutely loathes the thing and threatens to break it every time she sees it.</p><p>Sylvain picks it up, takes a sip, and finds that it still tastes perfect.  He tells her that too.</p><p>Ingrid throws a little smile over her shoulder.  Sylvain nearly drops his coffee with the way his heart skips.  </p>
<hr/><p>Breakfast is good and mostly normal.  Ingrid, it turns out, had already eaten but that doesn’t stop her from shoveling food in her mouth across from him at the kitchen island.  </p><p>“Is it my birthday?”  He asks her, interrupting her in the middle of a bite.</p><p>Ingrid stares at him blankly.  “Wouldn’t you know if it’s your own birthday?”</p><p>He checks his wrist for a smartwatch that isn’t there.  “Uh,” he says.</p><p>“It’s the middle of fall Sylvain.”  Ingrid laughs, “If anything, it’s closer to my birthday than yours.  Are you okay?”</p><p>He wants to ask if <em>she’s </em>okay because this is nice, he could get used to this, but it’s also weird because this is a little unexpected isn’t it?  “Yeah,” he holds his mug and takes a pointed sip, “just need a little more coffee I think.”</p><p>Her eyebrows furrow, “do you want me to make some?”</p><p>He shakes his head, “Nah, unless you want any.”</p><p>“One is more than enough for me.”  There’s something about the little smile Ingrid gives him, something about the way she leans just a little forward, wearing a hoodie that is too big for her that makes his skin tingle.</p><p>Maybe this coffee is a little stronger than usual.  </p><p>Ingrid finishes her plate and instead of reaching over to grab his empty one like he expected her to, she walks right up next to him. “Finished?”  She says, holding her palm up.</p><p>Sylvain blinks, “Uh,” he says, reaching over to pick it up to place it in her hand.  “Here.” </p><p>He’s glad for her dexterity because he does actually drop the plate when their hands brush.  </p>
<hr/><p>Ingrid takes a call in his bedroom.  It’s important and work-related apparently, even though it’s a Saturday morning.  It becomes clear to Sylvain that she plans on hanging out with him today. </p><p>Sylvain doesn’t mind in the least.  His plans for today had been lounging out at home, maybe read a book, maybe sleep some more - definitely sleep some more.</p><p>But he doesn’t mind the company.  In fact, time with Ingrid is one of his absolute favorite things in the world.  He could probably just sit next to her forever if she lets him.  He has no plans to ever wander too far from her.  </p><p>He just can’t figure out what’s going on today.  Something has definitely changed and he’s not entirely sure what it is.  She keeps finding excuses to touch him but never quite letting him reciprocate.  When he had been doing the dishes earlier, a happy trade-off for the breakfast she made, Ingrid bounded up to stand next to him even though it wasn’t strictly necessary but when their legs brushed, she took just the slightest step away, out of his space.  </p><p>When he had to brush past her to get to the cabinets to put away the plates, she pushed on his back to help him through but when he tried to do the same on the way to the living room, she had simply waltzed over to the couch before her phone rang.</p><p>It’s curious and, honestly, it’s incredibly perplexing.  It’s not as if they aren’t used to each other’s spaces but this still feels different.  Because Ingrid isn’t like this.  Ingrid isn’t someone who seeks out his space.  She likes the company but she doesn’t just barge into his house, make him breakfast, and casually touch him in a way that feels not at all casual.</p><p>Ingrid’s touches are playful shoves, an occasional whack, sometimes, when she’s in a particularly good mood, she’ll reach up and ruffle his hair, and quick greeting or parting hugs but she doesn’t linger.  </p><p>That’s usually what he does.  </p><p>It feels like he’s missing something.  Sylvain pulls out his phone and checks his messages, scrolling through his last conversation with Ingrid to scan for any hint of this sudden change in behavior. </p><p>He’s so focused by his detective work that he doesn’t notice Ingrid’s return until he feels two hands alighting themselves on his shoulders startling him so hard he jumps, his phone plopping into his lap.</p><p>Ingrid laughs but leaves her hands on his shoulders.</p><p>“You scared the hell out of me.”  He says, trying to slow the rapid beating of his heart that doesn’t at all seem to want to slow down.</p><p>He feels her fingers curl a little into his shoulders.  He looks back down at his lap and clicks the button on his phone to sleep.</p><p>“Who are you talking to that’s got you so focused?”  She asks, dropping her chin on the top of his head and peering down at the phone in his lap.</p><p>He wonders if he’s imagining or hoping for the slight edge in her voice.  </p><p>“No one,” he says very very quickly.</p><p>“Hmm,” she hums in a tone that tells him that she doesn’t believe him at all.  </p><p>He wants to see her expression, see if she’s frowning, but he also kind of likes the way his head fits under her chin.  </p><p>Then her hands drift down his shoulders, dragging down his chest and towards his lap.  </p><p>Sylvain’s brain stutters to a full and complete stop, unable to process the fact that Ingrid’s hands are trailing lazily down his chest and it isn’t until she plucks his phone right out of his lap and retreats that it kicks back on again.</p><p>“Hey!” he cries, breathless and strained and absolutely pathetic.  </p><p>Ingrid’s standing up straight against the back of the sofa.  The warmth from her body against his gone except for the one hand that stays clasped to keep him in place on the couch, pushing hard to prevent him from twisting and grabbing the phone from her without tumbling and likely falling onto his face onto his hardwood floor.</p><p>He catches her face in profile, squinting at the phone she holds slightly angled away from him.</p><p>“You were texting me?”  She asks, sounding just as confused as he feels right now.  </p><p>He groans, really wishing his password to everything wasn’t her birthday.</p><p>“I wasn’t texting you.” He says, “I was reading back our conversations.”</p><p>Ingrid glances back at him.  He can’t read the expression on her face but it’s something between curious, confused, and playful.  </p><p>She tosses the phone back at him where it lands perfectly in his lap.  He barely has time to retrieve it before she’s plopped next to him, her thighs burning against his.</p><p>Ingrid also doesn’t usually sit this close when it’s just the two of them.  Instead, she likes to stretch her legs out towards him from the other end so that they can see each other when they chat.  Sometimes, when they’re watching TV, she’ll prop her legs in his lap but she doesn’t usually sit against him.  There’s always a little bit of space.  </p><p>“Why?”  She asks innocently.</p><p>“You’re doing this on purpose,” he accuses.</p><p>Ingrid bites her lip, glancing down into her lap as sinks into his giant hoodie, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Ingrid.” He says, gentle as he can, “Despite how you’ve been acting today, one thing is still consistent and it’s that you are an <em> awful </em> liar.”</p><p>Her eyes snap back towards his.  “What do you mean ‘<em> despite how I’ve been acting’ </em>”</p><p>“I mean, not that I mind - and believe when I say I really <em> really </em> don’t mind, but this-” He points to the lack of space between them “-isn’t something I’d expect from you.  Me to you?  Yes, but not the other way around.”</p><p>Ingrid genuinely pouts and it’s so cute that he legitimately zones out for a second while she’s talking.  </p><p>“What?” he says, blinking back into reality as she shifts towards him.  She pulls both of her feet up and tucks her feet under her.  </p><p>“Is it too much?” She says, cheeks flaming.  </p><p>“No,” he tells her, “it’s just...unexpected and I’m wondering why.  Did someone put you up to this?”</p><p>“Why does it have to be that?”  She asks.</p><p>“I don’t know!  I mean, you’re friends with Dorothea, it kind of seems like something she’d push you to do.”</p><p>“It’s not!”  She insists, dropping her head into his shoulder where the rest of her words become too mumbled to hear, that or he’s too distracted by her shampoo to listen closely enough.  </p><p>“Come again?”</p><p>She takes a deep breath before lifting her head, just a little, looking way too bashful for him to line up the idea that this is the same Ingrid he’s known his entire life.  </p><p>“I just…” she huffs, “I just wanted to.  Is that so bad?”</p><p>He shakes his head quickly and vigorously.  “No,” he says, “Not at all.”  </p><p>He barely stops himself from blurting, <em> hey, maybe, if you want, you should just do this more often.  Anytime actually.  Just come in.  It’s not like you don’t have my emergency key. Actually, you know what, better idea- how about you never leave?  How about we do this every day?  Except I’ll make the coffee and breakfast sometimes too because that’d be fair right? </em></p><p>Ingrid breathes and this time, he’s sure he’s not imagining the shakiness in her breath.  “Okay,” she says, and it sounds like it’s more to herself than to him, “Okay.”</p><p>He smiles at her, hoping that it’s reassuring.  </p><p>She grins at him and it sparks a single stupid thought.</p><p>Why did he stop himself?</p><p>“Hey, Ingrid.” He says.</p><p>She blinks at him.  “Hmm?”</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p>Ingrid doesn’t answer in words, instead, she simply leans forward, brings her hands up to his face, and does it for him.</p><p>She tastes like coffee and bacon and the best part of Saturday.  </p><p>Before he gets the chance to deepen it, to pull her in closer, Ingrid breaks away and tucks herself into his shoulder, lifting his arm and pulling it around her.</p><p>“Hey, Ingrid.” He says, getting used to the way she feels cuddling right into him.  “Are we together now?”</p><p>“Do you want to be?”</p><p>“Yes please.”</p><p>“Then we’re together.”  </p><p>He beams so hard he’s pretty sure his smile is going to split the whole world in half. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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</div>“Hey Ingrid?”<p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can I kiss you again?”</p><p>“...”</p>
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